


Reckoning

by Devereauxs_Disease, TheGoldenStag, WrathoftheStag (Mwuahna)



Series: Cheese Folk [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BEARS!, Franklyn at the Opera, Hannibal and Will go on a date, Hannibal crack, M/M, Mrs. Komeda likes bears, Or do they?, Reckoning, That's an awfully weird form of flirtation, hannigram AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoldenStag/pseuds/TheGoldenStag, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mwuahna/pseuds/WrathoftheStag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Will are set for a night at the opera -- or are they?  Will begins his reckoning in the most cruel of ways. Another collaboration between Devereauxs_Disease and WrathoftheStag. Crack is whack!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> “Hannibal, that is the third time you’ve glanced at the door, I’m beginning to think I’m boring you,” Mrs. Komeda laid a hand on the doctor’s arm, forcing him to refocus.

“A thousand apologies, Mrs. Komeda,” Hannibal offered her one of his more sincere smiles, “I am expecting a companion for the evening and he has yet to arrive.”

“How lovely? Is it someone we know?” Mrs. Komeda had yet to remove her hand from Hannibal, he wondered if she was attempting to physically draw the details from his body.

“No. In fact, I doubt he’s ever been to the BSO before, so I was merely worried that he might be lost. Perhaps he went to the Lyric instead?” Hannibal dropped his arm, politely shaking off the older woman’s grip. He adjusted his cufflinks and made sure her hands had not mussed the fine fabric of his tux.

“It won’t do to stand here and wait for him so anxiously, no one likes an over-eager date,” Hannibal was mentally picking out a roast recipe for his oldest opera board ally when she took his arm. “Now, escort me to my seat and take yours, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal led her up the maroon staircase, only occasionally considering pushing her down it as they went.

Now in the private box he had bought for the evening, Hannibal had plenty of time to wonder exactly where Will was. Curtain call had been 45 seconds ago. This lateness should have been inexcusable, but Hannibal found his lips curling in a slight smile as he thought of Will fumbling with a bow tie, attempting to lint roll dog hair off his rented tux, or driving around the block, nervous about an evening with Hannibal’s social circle. It was a miracle that Will had agreed to come out at all, and Hannibal knew he would excuse the empath’s lateness even if he turned up halfway through Juliet’s death scene.

He was so lost in thought that the usually observant cannibal had missed another presence in the room. He was snapped out of his reverie when a decidedly meaty hand squeezed the doctor’s thigh. Head snapping up, Hannibal met the obsequious eyes of Franklyn Froideveaux.

The man was covered in a thick sheen of sweat and smelled vaguely of processed pork and the Armani aftershave he seemed to bathe in before every appointment. As Hannibal felt the sticky hand seep through his pants and onto his skin, he suppressed a shiver and the urge to snap his beseeching admirer’s neck.

“Franklyn,” He kept his tone even as he mentally vivisected the annoyance before him. “To what do I owe this surprise?”

“I’m so sorry I’m late Dr. Lecter. Agent Graham only gave me the tickets an hour ago and I had to go home and freshen up. Wouldn’t do for you to have a ragamuffin on your arm, am I right?”

His hand was still gripping into Hannibal’s thigh. The doctor lifted his eyes to look amongst the crowd. Just as he suspected, Mrs. Komeda was watching him intently and waved when their eyes met. The lights were beginning to lower and Hannibal began some mental calculations as to how hard it would be to dispatch Franklyn in front of a capacity crowd.

The buzz of his phone in his pocket distracted him from his thoughts.

“Please excuse me.” Hannibal lifted the phone to his face.

The text from Will was only one word: _Reckoning_.

Hannibal stared at the screen lit before him. He rubbed it with his finger for a moment, in hopes that maybe the message would change. There it remained: _Reckoning._ Hannibal swallowed then simultaneously cursed and praised Will for this mighty checkmate. _Well done, Mongoose. Well done, indeed._

“The curtain is going up, Dr. -- uh, Hannibal,” Franklyn said with so much tenderness in his voice, it almost made Hannibal feel sorry for him. “Maybe you should turn off your phone.”

Hannibal took a deep breath to center himself and said, “Yes, of course. Forgive me,” as he turned off the screen still gripping the phone tightly in his hand. He looked to Mrs. Komeda who was smiling and -- dear lord -- giving him a thumbs up signal. It was all Hannibal could do to not jump from his seat and run out of the theater box.

He glanced over to Franklyn, who appeared to be barely breathing, and then back to Mrs. Komeda who smiled still. Hannibal then did the unthinkable, something that he never thought himself capable of, something so incredibly rude, if he saw himself doing it he would immediately put himself in his own Rolodex. He turned on his phone to send Mrs. Komeda a text message.

_Mrs. Komeda, this is not the companion I was expecting. Forgive my intrusion. I merely wanted to clear up any misunderstandings. Enjoy the performance._

Send.

He looked over as she picked up her phone instantly and read the message. Hannibal shift his leg over to the left in hopes that Franklyn’s grabby hand would understand that it was not invited.

_My dear Hannibal. There’s no need to explain yourself, or be embarrassed at what you like. You are into...shall we say it? Bears. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that._

Send.

Hannibal felt his nose twitch involuntarily; that thing it does when he is about to lose all self-control.

_Indeed, but that is absolutely not the case here. My companion that I was expecting was not able to make it, and sent this mutual acquaintance in his place._

Send.

Ms. Komeda read the text, but there was no response. Hannibal had to resign himself to sit there in his mind palace (enjoying the performance was _impossible_ now) and commence a murderous rampage there. But who would be first? Franklyn? It wasn’t his fault, really, but if he continued to inch closer… Mrs. Komeda? How does she even know what a bear is? Will? Will. If he was going to be rude this evening, he may as well go all out. He sent Will a text message.

_Your actions tonight are petty and inescapably rude. What’s to be done about that?_

Hannibal felt a warm slimy pressure on his knee. He suppressed the urge to shiver and shifted his attention to Franklyn, who leaned in with watery beseeching eyes. For one horrible moment, Hannibal feared he would be kissed, and if those spittle flecked lips touched him, he’d be forced to kill the roly-poly annoyance, crowd of hundreds or no.

“Are you live-tweeting the opera too? What’s your handle? We should follow each other.”

Hannibal had been fluent in English since his teens, and while he knew the definitions of each word Franklyn spoke individually, he had no idea what the sausage-fingered gnat was talking about. He did know that Franklyn’s meal of processed pork was now wafting onto his skin, filling his pores with saliva, chemically separated meat, and desperation. Hannibal thought of the facial he’d indulged in before his evening with Will, another petty irritation he planned to hold his mongoose accountable for.

Hannibal heard a phone buzz, but he hadn’t felt any movement from the cell clutched in his hand. When Franklyn removed his moist paw from his knee, Hannibal felt a spike of dread. The bearded man opened his phone – was his lock screen a wheel of cheese? – and read a message, emitting a small excited whine.

Suddenly, Hannibal was overwhelmed by the smell of unctuous devotion as Franklyn leaned in to the doctor’s space, beaming. He affected a large fake yawn, stretching his arms wide and wrapping one around Hannibal. The doctor froze, trapped between insufficient deodorant and abhorrent cologne, completely encased in Franklyn. This must be what panic felt like.

“Franklyn!” Louder than he had meant it, Hannibal was mortified when he heard gasps from the surrounding balconies and the distinct hum of murmurs. “Please detach yourself immediately.”

“It’s OK, I got the text from our buddy. You don’t have to worry about making the first move, Hannibal.” He was practically vibrating with excitement. “I knew this was mutual.”

The hand on his knee was most decidedly moving north. Hannibal trapped it with a steel grip.

“Refrain from touching me for the rest of the evening.” Hannibal had found his control, and used it to subtly twist Franklyn’s hand until the man recoiled in pain.

“If you’ll excuse me, your forwardness has been quite upsetting and I must go compose myself.” Hannibal rose with the prim dignity of a noble and swept from the room.

He hit dial before the balcony door had closed.

“Good evening Dr. Lecter. What base did Franklyn get to?”

“You realize you’re playing with a man’s life.”

“Hey, his life is in his own hands. I told him to treat you like a lady, no further than second base. Check the text!”

“Did you honestly think you could goad me into killing that THING in a public place?” Hannibal hissed into the phone.

“My design was fuzzy. Either you’d kill him in front of a house full of witnesses and go to jail; or you’d suffer through three plus hours of sticky-fingered groping and be physically repulsed every time you heard Romeo & Juliet. Sounds like a win for me no matter what.”

Hannibal slumped against the wall.

“Mr. Froideveaux will survive the night,” Hannibal was suddenly extremely tired. “Only so that I may live to exact my revenge on you. Good evening, Will.”

“Wait!”

“Yes, Will?”

“I need to know something,” Will’s voice had gotten rougher, something in the tone caused Hannibal’s skin to prickle. “If I was there instead of Franklyn…what base would I have gotten to?”

Hannibal ended the call, cutting off Will’s burst of laughter. In spite of himself, Hannibal mumbled, "Third. Perhaps even a home run..."

He sighed and walked back toward the balcony.


End file.
